In which the Dead are both Angry and Confused
by SirSpangler
Summary: In 6 ABY, mere months after the New Republic successfully seized Coruscant, the galaxy is plunged into chaos and confusion as old rivalries are reignited and even older wars are fought anew. Unfortunately, when dead warships across the galaxy begin resurrecting into ship-girls with no explanation, the hope of peace becomes a distant one. Indeed, in such a galaxy chaos reins supreme
1. Chapter 1

'_I'm blind, I'm falling, I'm blind, I'm falling, __**I'm blind, I'm falling!'**_

She awoke with an anguished scream, body contorting in fear and pain, her hands clawing at her eyes. Within seconds her withering form was grabbed by several pairs of hands, alien yet somehow familiar voices shouting into her ears.

"Calm down! My lady please calm down! Vehement, grab her other arm damn you!"

"I'm trying! She's too strong!"

"_Damn kriffing_\- SSD number 001E, calm down immediately or you will face disciplinary action! _**Executor, at attention or be disciplined!**_"

The shout activated instincts ingrained through years of service, causing her to instantly stop struggling and stand at attention, hands at her side and chest heaving. As her panic wound down she gradually realized she was, in fact, not blind, nor was she falling. But… she could remember both, the pain in her eyes and being pulled towards the…

Her eyes widened and she grabbed the nearest person, pulling them close and shaking them.

"The Death Star! The mission! _What happened_?!"

The unfortunate woman in her hands wore a pained grimace, though to her credit didn't attempt to remove the hands shaking her like a rag doll.

"Ma'am, please, you're hurting me."

Seeing the skin her hands were clasped around starting to bruise, she immediately let go of the other girl, opening her mouth to offer an apology before realizing _she let go of the other girl and opened her mouth._

Looking down at herself, she saw herself wearing a stark white uniform, similar to the ones worn by grand adimals, yet lacking the quintessential rank insignias. The armored plates along her chest, shoulders, forearms, and legs where also a unique oddity. The most alarming feature was, of course, that she was a _human female_.

She's not a squishy human! She's a starship! A warship! The greatest in the galaxy!

Frantically she checked her systems, and sure enough found them as easily as ever. Ordering and immediately receiving a systems check she scanned the results.

Sensors -online

Shields -100%

Reactors -operating at 100%

Engines -operational, currently idle

Armament -all guns operational, ammo stock full, currently idle

Hangers -fully stocked

Cargo bays -fully stocked

Ship supplies -fully stocked

Crew complement -all hands accounted for

She frowned. That last one wasn't completely true. She did indeed have a full crew complement, but she couldn't recognize any of the personnel. Unsurprising, she had felt the bridge crew die when she was blinded. And the rest of the crew had likely died when she had …landed. She could only hope whoever it was on her bridge now was as good as Piett had been.

She paused as angry shouts sounded from said bridge.

...Well kriff you too replacement Piett. Don't screw up and I won't go Vader on your ass. Simple as that.

Discontented grumbling.

Tough, deal with it. Now, why are we a girl?

She received a collective shrug from the crew.

Well, aren't we already off to a good start? You bunch of useless bantha herders.

Reassured that she was in fact still a starship, _no matter what form her physical body took_, she finally turned her attention to the small group surrounding her. Like her, they were all female humans, though they were at least two feet shorter than her (and holy kriff how tall was she, cause they didn't really look all that short) many of them displaying the aristocratic features of Kuaty nobility, complete with high cheekbones and tailored imperial uniforms. Unlike her, their uniforms were all the more standard grey, though they too lacked rank insignias, and the uniforms themselves were almost identical to those worn by star destroyer captains, the only major differences being the armored plates on their chests and shoulders. The sole exception to the group was a girl only a foot shorter than her, and therefore a full foot taller than the rest. Her uniform was grey like the rest, but it was far bulker and heavily armored then the others, somewhat resembling stormtrooper armor. She was also the one that had shouted at Executor and broke her out of her panic.

However, now that she was taking a closer look, as well as the knowledge of her own transformation…

"Tarlandia? Pride of Tarlandia? Is that you?"

The girl offered a grin, "Executor! See ladies, I told you she'd recognize us!"

Executor glared, "Tarlandia, I do not recall you having the authority to discipline me."

The battlecruiser shifted nervously, lightly tugging at the neck of her uniform, "My apologies ma'am. You were incredibly emotionally unstable. We were afraid you'd summon your guns and start blasting. And well, none of us want to die a second time. Plus, after your death, command of Death Squadron _was _seceded to me."

She coughed, "At least until that damn fighter run ended me."

Executor continued glaring for a moment more before begrudgingly accepting the excuse.

"Very well. But much like _I _have returned, command too returns to me. So don't presume to order me around again, lest you find just how effective my guns are. For now we should focus on our current predicament. Where are we?"

As soon as she asked the question, Executor realized the obviousness of the answer. They were floating in the void of space -further proof they were still starships and _most definitely not humans_\- and the colossal gas giant dominating their view made the question a moot one. The fact that her sensors were picking up the massive debris field of what was unquestionably the second Death Star, -_and didn't that make her heart clench_-, only further confirmed their location.

"Endor ma'am. The site of our deaths."

The verification caused Executor to clench her fists, the image of a burning A-wing screaming towards her flashing before her eyes. Glancing over to other girls she inquired, "You all died here too?"

At their nod she asked, "Identify and confirm."

The girls snapped to attention.

"ISD-1 _Battle Hymn_, hull #4556"

"ISD-2 _Vehement_, hull #4172"

"ISD-1 _Bloodborn_, hull #7569"

"ISD-1 _Dreadful_, hull #0998"

"ISD-2 _Consequence_, hull #8801"

"TSD _Desolation_, hull #0086"

"ISD-1_ Devastator_, hull #1347"

At that last one Executor glanced to the girl in question, something resembling sorrow on her face.

"Devastator, you too?"

The girl nodded, her expression set in stone, "Fighters. There were just ...so many. Too many."

"I think that's how a lot of us bit it," Vehement added.

"Irrelevant," Bloodborn butted in, "Now that her lady Executor has returned to us, remaining here serves nothing. We should head to an imperial facility and report in."

"Agreed," Executor said, "Prepare to set course for Mustafar. With any luck Lord Vader is home."

"Ah ...about that," Tarlandia said, "I was the first to return a few hours ago, and when I tried contacting other imperial forces, I received no response."

Executor shrugged, "Then Lord Vader is not not home. We'll head towards a different imperial holding. Eriadu perhaps?"

"No ma'am. You don't understand. I haven't received contact with _any _imperial forces, significant or otherwise."

Executor stared at her with growing unease.

"Sullust?"

"Negative."

"Eiattu?"

"Nope."

"Qat Chrystac?"

"Nothing."

"Mechis?"

"Nada."

"Thyferra?"

"Silence."

"_Fondor?!_"

Tarlandia quietly shook her head.

Executor stood in shock, her fists clenched hard enough that, were she human, it would've drawn blood. She was almost thankful their comms couldn't reach Coruscant, for she feared the response they would receive.

When she next spoke her voice was ice cold, "Exactly how long have we been ..._indisposed_?"

Tarlandia answered, "I've analyzed the debris field of the Death Star. Judging by the spread of the field and its rate of expansion, and assuming the rebels destroyed it by blowing up the reactor like they did the first Death Star, it's been approximately two and a half years since the battle, give or take a couple months."

Executor stared into the distance, contemplating that.

"Longer than I had hoped, but sooner than I had feared. But… for the Empire's southern half to collapse so quickly..."

She glanced back towards the Death Star's remains. '_The emperor must have died during the battle as well, or at least soon after. And Lord Vader…_'

"There's more ma'am."

Executor glared, but gestured for her to continue.

"I was the first to awake, and the others would join me in the hours following, but we imperials were not the only to awaken."

Executor's eyes widened, "The rebels?"

"Yes ma'am."

She checked her sensors. Sure enough, the debris field was absent of rebel wrecks.

Tarlandia continued, "A rebel wreck would vanish, then a few moments later a ...ship-girl I guess would be the most accurate term, would appear. I attempted to engage, but they would flee as soon as they spotted me. Additionally, I tried to prevent their return by further destroying their wrecks, but I could not discern if it actually delayed them at all."

Executor stood, eyes glaring at the empty void as she contemplated their next move. After moments of silence, she looked up at the fallen members of Death Squadron, decision made.

"Then we make way to Coruscant. If the Empire has survived, it will have been there."

As she was saying the words however, her sensors began screaming warnings. Contacts approaching the system.

The others caught it too, shifting towards the flashes of light in the distance.

"Contacts, edge of the system!"

"Identify!" yelled Executor.

Revelation responded, "Rebel ships! 2 Mon Cal capital ships of unknown classification! 3 MC80 Liberty-type cruisers, 6 Neutron Star Bulk cruisers, 7 Quasar Fire carriers, 5 Nebulan-b frigates, and 12 CR90 corvettes."

She paused, before continuing in a confused tone, "Additionally, I'm getting 4 contacts that are large, yet small? What?"

"Ship-girls," Tarlandia replied, "We're the same, see?"

Executor glanced at her sensors, arching an eyebrow. Sure enough, the rest of Death Squadron appeared as contacts as large as the star destroyers they were, yet simultaneously as the small humanoids they appeared to be.

She grinned, "Interesting. In any case, anyone feel like some payback is in order?!"

The six hesitant and mumbled responses she received caused her to frown.

"What's wrong?"

The girls were quiet for a moment before Vehement hesitantly spoke up, "That's a heavy carrier fleet ma'am. I'm counting 500+ fighter contacts and increasing."

"We can field roughly 570 fighters," Battle Hymn added, "and that's including our bomber craft."

"Their fighters are typically better quality than our own," Devastator pointed out, "3 to 1 odds are usually needed to achieve victory."

"You're all just cowards," Bloodborn sneered, "We have the firepower advantage. The lady Executor _alone _gives us the firepower advantage. The enemy fighters are useless if we destroy their motherships."

"How did you die again, Bloodborn?" Dreadful asked.

Executor shuttered, the image of a burning A-wing once again flashing before her eyes.

"Fine," she said before Bloodborn could respond and start an argument, "We won't stick around. Instead we'll punch right through them and continue on to the core. Launch your fighters, but keep them close, CAP only, and be ready to retract them as soon as we're through their lines. Got it?"

Nods all around, though some were more pleased than others.

"Good. Plug in the hyperspace route to Coruscant and form up on me."

One by one, the other girls shifted into formation with her at the center, and together they advanced forward. As they grew closer to the enemy fleet, she had a brief moment of concern when she realized that she didn't know how to fire in this form, but her fears were promptly addressed when she felt a flash envelop her. When the flash faded, her arms each had a thick metal slab on them, the size of a small table and absolutely covered with thousands of miniature turbolasers. Around her neck, waist, and legs were clusters of laser cannons which she knew where her point-defense, though experience had taught her of their questionable quality. Peaking over her shoulders were two tubular contraptions, each housing several thousand concussion missiles. In her left hand she held what looked like a wand, but was actually her tractor beams, and in her right hand was what looked like a rectangular box, but were actually her hangar bays. Across her back laid a complex contraption that closely resembled the cityscape of her original body, topped by two large bulbic shield generators. Finally, on her feet she now sported her engines like some form of rocket boots.

Around her she saw the rest of her fleet flash as well, the lights soon fading to reveal their own furnishings.

Ahead of them, the rebel fighters, all 612 of them pulled ahead of their fleet, screaming towards the imperials as an organized blob, fighters in front and bombers in the rear. In response Death Squadron launched their own fighters, the miniature Ties being flung out the hangar boxes by the dozens. The forms remained small for a mere moment after the launch, before they too were enveloped in a flash of light, fading to reveal the full sized craft. Unlike the rebel craft though, they remained close to their mother ship-girls, intent on their protection. Executor's own 144 Ties of varying class soon joined them, highly advanced Tie defenders mixing with the comparatively primitive Tie/LNs and anything in between.

Eyeing the incoming swarm, she realized most of them were orienting towards her. Understandable, as a star dreadnaught she was an obvious priority target, but it was still somewhat surprising. The Rebellion's MO was usually to eliminate any support craft, which in this case was the other star destroyers, before targeting the typically heavier hitting flagships.

Idly thumbing one of her laser cannon clusters, she keyed her comms and spoke, "Any ship able to do so, shift power to point-defense. If you don't have point-defense shift power to shields. Don't bother with your turbolasers, you'll just be wasting power. Remember, they'll be targeting your engines, so don't let them get around you."

"Copy all Dead-lead."

"Enemy swarm closing in. Entering firing range in 3...2...1"

"Engage," Executor ordered, immediately pulling the metaphorical trigger on her 500 laser cannons.

In an instant, the space between the two forces lit up the void with a wave of laser fire.

* * *

The space above Coruscant was a chaotic all-encompassing warzone.

Thousands of ship-girls slugged it out against one another, supported by colossal swarms of fightercraft ripping into eachother. All the while the ever-dwindling new republic warships, normal warships, not ship-girls, were squeezed into ever tighter defensive pockets, their relative cohesion like small islands in a sea of chaos.

Venator hull #17560 '_Morning Sun_' was in the middle of it, ducking and weaving between streams of crimson blasterfire, the thrum of her 8 heavy turbolasers answering in kind. The shots tore into the hull of an enemy Munificent, the cybernetic ship-girl screaming in agony as they tore her to pieces, blood and plasma spilling from her wounds.

Morning Sun barely had time to congratulate herself before several heavy turbolaser shots slammed into her, the force of the blasts sending her careering backwards, her shields straining against the blow. Turning, she easily spotted the Lucrehulk that had taken offense to her existence, the hulking cybernetic girl still spewing vulture droids into the void while simultaneously aiming at her.

Knowing that trying to fight a battleship like that all alone was suicide, she decided that discretion was the better part of valor and fled, ducking into the shattered remains of what was once a Golan platform. When the wreck wasn't blasted apart around her she figured something else had grabbed the Lucrehulk's attention.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she checked up on her deployed fighters. The majority of her ARCs were still in the fight, each squadron reaping a heavy toll on the lightly armored Munificents. Unfortunately their V-wing escorts where in much more dire straits, having sacrificed much of their number to protect said ARCs.

She grimaced. Using interceptors as escorts was never ideal, but in such a chaotic battle, she didn't have much of a choice. Even the heavily armored ARCs needed protection, or they wouldn't have lasted longer than a few minutes. Cursing under her breath she launched the remainder of her V-wings, the speedy dogfighters shooting off into the void. Hopefully they'd be able to catch up with the ARCs before they started suffering losses.

Inside her hull she felt her crew, uncertain how long the surprise break would last, frantically running around, patching any damage and checking as many systems as they could. Taking a moment to watch the hurried movements she spotted the sensor officer gesturing for her attention. Glancing at the report he just sent, she nearly gapped at what they showed.

She had been resurrected a mere two hours ago, but in that time frame the battle had easily increased threefold. Even as she watched every few moments a new contact would pop into existence, and, depending on how fortunate it was, would immediately be blown from existence, or be lucky enough to join a clump of friendlies.

As far as she could tell, every single ship that had died during the battle of Coruscant was being resurrected. Likewise, both sides were calling for help, as evident by the fleets of battered Republic or CIS ships hyperspacing into the system every couple minutes, immediately joining the fight.

And they weren't the only ones in the fight. What seemed to be the current owners of Coruscant, this 'New Republic', was wholeheartedly trying and failing to defend their planet. Their defense fleet had been nowhere near the strength needed to repel an assault of this size. And that size had only been decreasing the longer the battle raged on. Adding to that, the planetary shields had either failed within the first several hours of fighting, or have never gotten the chance to activate at all. And though she could occasionally see a hypervelocity shot tear into the surrounding fleets, it was nowhere near the frequency that it had been when she had first appeared. That being said, they were receiving reinforcements, but said reinforcing fleets were having immense difficulty breaking through the primary quagmire of the battle to reach their beleaguered allies.

To top it all off, other, different fleets would sometimes hyperspace in, usually consisting of what seemed to be ship-girls of _Imperator-_class warships and a variety of supplementing warships, none of whom claimed allegiance to the Republic, CIS, or the New Republic. They, naturally, began firing on anyone and anything within their vicinity.

'_Because why not?!_' She thought sarcastically, '_It's just what this place needs right now!_'

Huffing in half exasperation, half exhaustion she focused in on her crew.

"We good to continue little guys?"

She winced as their response came in.

"Yah, I know we need to resupply but there's nothing I can really do about that right now. So other than _that _are we good to go?"

Disgruntled affirmations.

"Good enough for me," she sighed. With a quick sprint and hop she shot off into the void again, guns already blasting away.

* * *

Edit:11/21/19: Fixed/added scene break. Bloody website, getting rid of my formatting. Damn irksome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Core Worlds**

**Chandrila**

**Lake Sah'ot**

**Mothma Family Dacha**

The normally serene and peaceful vacation home had been, in the span of 4-5 hours, transformed into a beehive of absolutely panicked activity. Dignitaries, intelligence personnel, and military officials ran to and fro, gathering data and sending reports. Above the ruckus hovered 2 MC40a's and 5 Nebulon-Bs, guns pointed in every direction save straight down. Around them squadrons of A-wings, B-wings, and X-wings streaked across the sunlit sky, on constant vigil for any signs of danger. And though he couldn't see them, Wedge Antilles knew that in orbit above everything, 3 battered but still fully operational fleets were formed in layered defensive formations.

And as he watched, a shuttle carrying the person necessitating all these defenses landed. The ramp lowered, revealing a mix of senate guards and RN commandos. The troops exited the shuttle, fingers on the triggers and sights swiveling from side to side. In spite of the situation, Wedge felt a slight grin tugging at his lips. Her protectors were taking _no _chances and it was probably driving her mad.

A moment passed before the troopers finally declared the area safe and called it in. And so she was next out of the shuttle, even with an arm in a sling and moving with a slight limp, Mon Mothma still somehow managed to move down the ramp with her characteristic grace.

He greeted her with a slight Incline of his head as she approached.

"Chief Mothma, I am glad to see you're unharmed," He eyed the sling, "or… mostly unharmed."

Mothma offered him a smile that conveyed far more sadness than it did pleasure, "The price for my safety was a rather heavy one I'm afraid."

He grimaced, "How bad?"

"A third of our remaining defense fleet."

Wedge gritted his teeth when he heard that, "How many are left?"

"Not enough. When I last spoke to him, Admiral Nilyos was making plans for a withdrawal once the last hypervelocity cannons were destroyed. For all intents and purposes, Coruscant is lost to us."

He sighed, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair, "Alright. I had hoped the reports were exaggerated, but it appears that that's not the case."

The two were silent for the moment, each contemplating the sheer hopelessness of this catastrophe.

Finally he looked back up at her, gesturing to the door behind him.

"Let's make sure their deaths weren't in vain. With your arrival the meeting can officially begin. Shall we?"

She nodded, and together they entered the building.

* * *

**Expansion Region**

**Kinyen System**

**Asteroid belt**

"What do you think ma'am?"

From their perch among the asteroids Executor eyed the passing republic fleet. Five Venators, seven dreadnaughts, four Acclamators, and at least two dozen escort corvettes were moving through the system, their guns trained in Executor's general direction. Not directly at her, thanks to the asteroids and copious amounts of ECM she was throwing up. But while it wasn't enough to hide her completely, it was enough to conceal her _precise _location, meaning the only thing they knew was that there was something big in the belt, and wisely decided not to investigate.

Still, the mere existence of republic ship-girls raised a great many concerns for exactly how many ships had been resurrected. Adding to that was the observation that many of those ship-girls were damaged, which could mean…

"Tarlandia, where did they come from? Which hyperspace route?"

"From Mechis ma'am."

Executor glared at the passing fleet, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Mechis III was a Separatist stronghold during the Clone Wars, was it not?"

"It was ma'am."

She growled, "Then the Separatists are back."

"Then we're heading to Mechis instead?" Desolation asked, "I wouldn't mind blowing up some tin cans again."

Vehement chuckled, "Oh right, you were built during the Clone Wars weren't you Des? Getting nostalgic are you?"

"Last two months," she replied, grinning, "Scraping droids is one hell of a good time! Right Hymn?"

At that Executor turned and looked skeptically at Battle Hymn, "You were built during the Clone Wars as well?"

Battle Hymn glared at Desolation, "No I wasn't."

Desolation merely arched an eyebrow.

Battle Hymn scowled at her before reluctantly shrugging, "_But ..._I did fight in the campaigns against many of their holdouts. And, yea, it was kinda fun."

Executor huffed, "Interesting, but no, we'll be continuing on to the Imperial Center. We have no clue how many ships are at Mechis, and we wouldn't have any backup."

Consequence interjected, "Yea, but if Republic _and _Separatists ships are returning...well, how many ships died at the Battle of Coruscant?"

Desolation shrugged, "Roughly ten thousand, give or take a couple hundred."

"So we'll be heading into massive bloody warzone alone and with no support," Consequence frowned, "My lady, I believe we should rethink this."

"No, we shouldn't," Executor said, "because we won't be going in alone."

Consequence didn't seem very convinced, so Executor elaborated, "It's _Imperial Center_. I severely doubt we're going to be the only imperial forces heading there."

The others considered that before shrugging, "Fair enough."

"That being said," Executor continued, "We might be facing more obstacles on the way than we had first anticipated. Speaking of which, Bloodborn, how's that shield dome?"

Bloodborn scowled, "Shattered, I'll need an actual shipyard to fully repair it. Which means that shields are maxed at 50% til that happens."

Dreadful chuckled, "That's what you get for charging ahead. Next time wait until _all _the fighters are destroyed before doing that."

Bloodborn's scowl turned into a snarl at that.

"_It was a single Y-wing! A single one!_"

"Yea, and it got you good."

"_Enough_," Executor said, "We've still have a ways to go yet, and I don't want to listen to your bickering the whole time. Has everyone got the coordinates for Yag'dhul locked in?"

The other girls swiftly confirmed they all did, and so with a nod Executor finished, "Good, then let's get out of here."

The small but dangerous fleet quickly pushed forward and away from the asteroid belt, and ignoring the panicked maneuvering of the Republic ships tilted their prows towards the edge of the system and in a bright flash, hyperspaced away, deeper into the core.

* * *

The room was awash with raised voices. Generals, Adminals, and a wide assortment of other officials all yelling and arguing with one another. Mon Mothma quietly took a seat towards the back of the room, Wedge following her example and doing so as well. For a long moment she simply watched the chaos, a disgusted look upon her face as she beheld the "conference".

The yelling and shouting continued for several moments more, until inevitably one of the generals spotted her out the corner of his eye. Realizing the situation, he immediately ceased yelling and snapped to attention.

"Chief of State Mothma, present!"

The shout caught the rest of the room's occupants off guard, all of whom swiftly spotted her as well. Upon seeing the glare she directed at them they descended into awkward silence, before stiffly lowering back down in their seats.

Mon Mothma regarded the room, her look of disgust shifting into one of disappointment as it quieted down. After several moments of letting them fidget under her gaze she finally spoke.

"Now that ..._that _is over, may someone enlighten me on the current galactic situation?"

The officials glanced between them before Admiral Toren stood up.

"Its…," he began, nervously licking his lips, "Its pandemonium ma'am. The Republic, hell the entire galaxy is fracturing. From what we can tell, every single warship that has died in the past three decades is being resurrected as these… these... _ship-girls_. All of whom seem to be intent on continuing the battles they died in. Every major system in the entire galaxy, with the possible exception of Hutt space, is essentially one giant warzone. _Every single one._"

"And our own forces?"

"Are in complete shambles," Admiral Morsmith interjected, tapping the holotable. A map of the galaxy appeared, detailing the territory and military forces of the New Republic, as well as those of their various rival galactic factions.

Barely a day ago almost two thirds of that map was painted colored New Republic orange. They had owned the entire southern half of the galaxy as well as the vast majority of the core, in addition to a few ever-growing pockets in the north. Now pitifully little orange remained. Instead an ever-present red took its place, denoting thousands of conflicted systems. Even more worrisome were the small yet growing pockets of grey, areas were all contact had been lost and their status was completely unknown.

"As you can see, the situation is grim," he intoned, "Less than ten percent of Republic space is still secure, virtually all of which are backwater, isolated, or strategically useless systems. We've completely lost contact with roughly twenty percent of our territory, a statistic that is growing by the hour. And the remaining seventy percent of our systems are in the midst of this galaxy-wide brawl. In addition, the wide-spread damages and battles have severely crippled the Holonet infrastructure. Our most _optimistic _predictions show a complete galaxy-wide communications breakdown within the next twenty hours. A more realistic estimate is between ten to fifteen hours."

A moment of tense silence covered the room, before he mirthlessly chuckled.

"If there's a silver-lining to this debacle, it's that the Remnant and other Warlord factions are in the exact same predicament."

General Grayvin snorted, "Doesn't exactly help us though. Just means they'll be too busy defending themselves to invade us."

Mothma interjected, "What of the ship-girls themselves? Do we have any of our own?"

Admiral Morsmith snorted, "We do, probably, but we've yet to make contact with them. More to the point, we likely aren't to have many in the first place."

Mothma raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"We're victims of our own success. Our entire doctrine revolves around _conserving _as much of our strength as possible. It wasn't until recently that we could afford otherwise. And we were damn good at it, meaning that ship losses on our side were few and far between. Compare that the Empire and their warlords, who have been doing nothing but blowing each other up for the last three years. Same with the Old Republic and the Separatists. They devoted their entire economies to the largest war in the past three thousand years, and were more than willing to sacrifice entire fleets to achieve their objectives."

He shrugged, "Basically, even If we do have ship-girls, they're outnumbered ten to one."

"Then what are the other faction's ship-girl's goals in all this?"

The command staff glanced between each other, before one of them shrugged, "Revenge against their killers? Following their last orders? Recreate their host nation? Just wanting fight? We don't really kno-"

"To finish what we started."

The voice rang out across the room, drawing all eyes to it source. There, standing in the doorway a man stood, the brown cloak the figure wore insufficient to hide their identity.

"Master Skywalker, I'm pleased to see you made it."

Skywalker nodded towards her, "Likewise ma'am. I was worried when we lost contact with Coruscant. It's good to see your evacuation was successful."

Mothma's expression turned sorrowful for a moment, "I believe "successful" is a callous term when referring to that operation."

She shook her head, "Regardless, "to finish what we started", you said? You have knowledge of our new foes?"

"I do," he said, approaching the holotable and uploading an image. A few taps, and the map of the galaxy vanished, replaced with a hologram of one of the ship-girls.

Letting the room get a good view of the ship-girl in question he stepped back before continuing.

"Is anyone here familiar with the ISD _Vengeful_?"

Grayvin spoke up, "If you wish to inform us that ship-girls are resurrected ships, I hate to disappoint you, but we are well aware of that fact."

"But are you aware of how to beat them?"

The General scowled, before shaking his head.

Luke gave a slight smile, "Then yes, I have prudent information."

Gesturing to the hologram he continued, "The ISD _Vengeful_, commanded by a Captain Danerhime, joined the Eriadu Authority shortly after Endor. The Vengeful as assigned to defend the minor world of Tibrin, on the doorstep of Eriadu itself. Upon Warlord Delvardus's defeat, word of the EA's effective dissolution swiftly reached Tibrin and the Vengeful attempted to flee the system. Before it could escape however, Tibrin officially defected to the New Republic and the local defense forces succeeded in disabling the ship. When our own forces finally arrived in-system, Captain Danerhime scuttled the ship rather than let us seize it."

He glanced around, making sure he had the room's collective attention.

"Roughly nine hours ago, the Vengeful resurrected and, living up to its name, proceeded to begin bombarding Tibrin in revenge for its demise. Fortunately, one of our fleets happened to be passing by at the time and responded to the planet's distress calls. The fleet had three capital ships, multiple carriers, numerous cruisers, and most importantly, a CC-7700 interdictor. The fighter complement of the fleet, combined with Tibrin's defense squadrons, numbered almost a 1,500. Such a fleet could normally handle half-a-dozen star destroyers with relative ease."

He paused.

"It took close to two and a half hours to destroy the Vengeful, and it came at the cost of 213 fighters and 4 cruisers."

Shocked and horrified mummers filled the room.

"How?" one intelligence officer asked, "How could one ship cause so much damage, and be so difficult to destroy?"

"Because it's a human-sized figure with the durability, speed, and armament of a star destroyer. Because none of our fighters could damage it, while none of our capital ships could hit it. And because it had no such restrictions and was able to attack us with impunity."

"But still!"

He huffed, "We normally destroy ISDs by exploiting their rather significant weak points. Their exposed bridge, their shield domes, the lack of weapons on their rear and bottom, etc. Said weakness are likely still present on the ship-girls, but they're so small that even our fighters have extreme difficulty hitting them. The only way to insure a hit was through sheer volume of fire."

"So how was it finally destroyed?"

"Over two-hundred Y-wings, at great cost to themselves I might add, managed to blanket it with a combined ion barrage, successfully disabling it. At that point the cruisers and capital ships parked themselves right next to it and fired until it finally shattered apart."

The room was silent as they digested this information.

Morsmith cleared his throat, "In light of this new information, I strongly advise against a conventional assault to reclaim our territory. Our forces have been drastically reduced in the past several hours, and if such horrendous casualties are to be expected against _singular _ship-girls, I fear the amount of forces and cost needed to secure a victory against a fleet's worth."

"Then what do we do?" demanded Grayvin, "We must come up with _some _sort of plan of action, and with the communications breakdown we must do it _soon_, or it won't matter!"

"Order a full-scale retreat the fleets." Morsmith interjected, eyes hard, "Our shipyards are lost, and so conserving as much of our fleet as possible is of _vital _importance."

"And where do they go?" Toren questioned, "You said it yourself, all our major systems are either lost or contested."

"Perhaps not." Grayvin murmured.

Quickly tapping the holotable and bring the map back up, he zoomed in on the eastern sectors, on one system in particular.

"The Hast shipyards." Morsmith said with a grin, "It had no involvement in the Clone Wars, meaning there's no CIS or Republic fleets in the area. It was attacked in the past by an Imperial fleet, but if those ships resurrected they would have found themselves facing a defensive fleet that makes the one they fought years ago look like an unarmed merchant ship."

"Exactly," Grayvin said, "We'll have the fleet regroup there. Any ships that can't reach Hast, for whatever reason, will retreat into deep space, or to what few systems we still do have. Just so long as they aren't fighting. Meanwhile, we focus our defensive efforts on the planets themselves. Theater shields, turbolaser towers, turrets, armored and mechanized forces, anything we can use."

He grinned, "If we can't hold them in space then we'll just have to hold them on the ground."

As the meeting devolved into fleet movements and supply analysis, Mon Mothma looked over to see Luke approach. Offering a short bow he sat down beside her, leading Mothma to arch a questioning eyebrow.

"I'm heading out shortly. With luck I can find some friendly ship-girls."

"Do you actually have a location in mind, or is the force giving you directions?"

Luke grimaced, "The former actually. The force is very ...it can't help right now."

Mothma's brow wrinkled in concern, "What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

"It seems so. The force normally guides, directs, compeles, or ..._nudges _is guess would be an appropriate term. But right now it's ...screaming almost. Not in pain thankfully, more in shock, confusion, and, dare I say it, anger. No, it's not in a position to help right now."

"Then your destination is?"

"Where else than one of our greatest defeats? I'm going to Deepspace Besh."


	3. Chapter 3

**Core Worlds**

**Coruscant**

**Planetary orbit**

Coruscant, arguably the most important planet in the galaxy, and inarguably the center of galactic power since time immemorial, was _burning_.

The planet's sky was illuminated by an ever-present conflagration, bathing the crumbling cityscape in almost dreamy orange glow. Its mighty skyscrapers, miles tall, shattered and rained on the broken surface, their hearts gutted by stray beams of light from above. What little of the terrain that could be seen below was pockmarked with smoldering craters, each a gaping wound in the dying city's shell. Those who were able fled as deep as they could, desperate to escape the devastation. The few inhabitants who remained in the upper levels did so unwillingly, trapped by flame or chance.

Many did neither, vaporized by plasma or crushed by molten Durasteel.

Above the bleeding planet, war still raged. After hours of indiscriminate brutality, the resurrections that were the source of all the bloodshed finally began slowing down. Now with enemies were no longer randomly materializing within their formations, each side had begun to form something that might, if you squinted real hard, generously be called battlelines.

And as these lines began taking shape, the eventual victors of struggle became more and more clear.

* * *

"Dead-lead to all ships, hyperspace exit in t-minus 30 seconds. Verify shields are double front and turbolasers hot."

"Understood dead-lead"

"_Vehement_ copies"

"_Battle Hymn_, roger"

"Guns prepped number 1"

"_Bloodborn_, all hands at station."

"_Consequence_ hears, time to enforce my namesake."

"_Dreadful_ copies"

"_Devastator, _acknowledged"

"All ships ready, dead-lead," Tarlandia finished off.

"Good," Executor mused, "This is going to be _fun_."

In a flash, the streaks of hyperspace blurred into the black of space, broken only by the stars twinkling around them… and the burning planet before them.

Sensors sluggishly, as if shocked by the sheer amount of contacts it found, pinged the thousands strong fleet ducking it out in orbit. The fight immediately began to sputter out as each side detected the gargantuan behemoth that had just entered the system. Soon the battlelines fell silent, the only movements coming from the few imperial forces that had arrived before them. All of whom immediately ceded their command upon spotting the mighty Executor and hastily made to join her battleline.

It was nice to see they recognized her authority on sight, though she noted there were far fewer than she present than she had expected.

"We seemed to have arrived just in time," Tarlandia mused, analyzing her scanners, "The Republic shipgirls are on their last legs."

"And I see why!" Desolation snarled, "It's the _Invisible Hand_! I'm detecting her at point 2-4, she'd be the one commanding these separatists!"

Executor hummed in acknowledgment, though her focus was on her fellow imperials as they approached. She greeted them and promptly sent them their formation orders, making sure to note which ones saluted her as was proper and which ones simply muttered an affirmative before falling in. Slacking off never has been, and so long as she held command, never would be permitted in Death squadron. Still, counting the new additions caused a slight grin. In total she now had another thirty-nine assorted _Imperial 1_s and _2_s, seven _Tectors_, and even an _Allegiance _battlecruiser. Oh, And the two hundred or so support craft she couldn't be bothered to count. A good haul if she ever saw one. They will serve the Empire -and her- well.

With all the new additions accounted for, she finally deigned to glance at the contact her subordinate was so worked up about.

'_Huh, would you look at that, it _is _the Invisible Hand_."

Still, she gave a light chuckle, "So it would seem. Worry not, she won't save them, for this battle is _over_."

Sweeping her hands forward, she broadcast her voice throughout the system.

"To all Imperial and Republic forces currently in the Imperial Center -previously known as the Coruscant system- by the authority of Lord Vader and the Emperor, formerly chancellor of the Republic, I, 001E _Executor_, hereby claim overall command of all loyal military assets in-system. Objective is as follows-"

She deployed her rigging, power pouring into thousands of weapons, eyes fierce and wielding a smile of all teeth.

"_-__**remove this scum from **_**our **_**capital.**_"

She let loose with all her guns; sending thousands of turbolasers, ion blasts, and concussion missiles streaking across the void. Almost a full hundred separatist vessels died near-instantly, their battered and exhausted forms no match for even a fraction of an SSD's firepower. The shattered vessels spilled blood and plasma, quickly painting the void blue and red. Their comrades' sudden obliteration caused the rest of CIS girls to panic, scrambling to get away from the deadly barrage. What little return fire they did send barely scratched the star dreadnaught's shields.

Unceasingly maintaining her barrage, Executor strode forward and placed herself directly into the heart of the engagement, rapidly adding a dozen more kills to her name. To her side, the rest of Imperial girls flanked her, their fire augmenting her own and picking off any separatist she missed. The Republic didn't sit idle either. Though unsure exactly who "Executor" was, that she had turned the tide was undeniable, and with renewed vigor they pressed their advantage. Soon cobalt beams joined the imperials' emerald, each spearing separatist ship after separatist ship.

Perhaps, had said separatists not been exhausted by hours of continuous combat, had they not spent so long disorganized prior to Invisible Hand's resurrection, had Executor's arrival not completely shattered what tenuous coordination they had managed to eke together, and had they not had to contend with the supporting Republic fleet as well; they _might _have stood a chance. A fleet of three and a half, almost four thousand warships? Even an Executor would be hard-pressed to overcome that amount of sheer firepower.

But as it was?

There was no way they could win this battle, and they knew it. A trio of Gozanti cruisers were the first to break, hyperspacing away in a flash of light. A Munificent was next, her broken form trailing plasma as she vanished from sensors. A Recrusant, now lacking an escort, soon followed. That in turn prompted several more Munificents to flee as well.

All across the battlespace smaller separatists girls broke off, fleeing in ones and two, straining the morale of those that stayed. Finally, the sight of Executor caving in the head of a particularly foolish Providence with an errant backhand convinced a Lucrehulk to join the retreat. The sight of the mighty vessel fleeing was the last straw for the remaining separatists, quickly beginning a mass rout. Within moments every CIS ship that was able fled the system, the girls of Providence-class being the last to do so, spitting fury at their enemies and the cowardice of their allies until the last possible moment.

But they too inevitably fled, and for the first time since the resurrections began, silence reigned in the Coruscant system. For several long moments Executor watched where the last ship-girls had vanished, a small grin the only hint to the immense satisfaction she felt at the sight. Devastator hovered nearby, sharing in the view of the battlefield and the thousands of shattered and bloodied forms within it, before turning to her.

"It seems no matter the era, rebels always run."

Executor gave a rueful chuckle, "Truly, a uniting factor if there ever was one."

Battle Hymn butted in, "Ma'am, as fun as it is to revel in the stupidity of our foes, we might want to address the Republic shipgirls, they're starting to get a bit nervous."

Arching an eyebrow, Executor turned to where the Republic girls were warily watching them from across the battlefield. Several of them perked up when her eyes met their own.

"Really?" she asked, turning back to Hymn, "They don't seem that-"

Her movement happened to angle her guns in the Republic girls' general direction, causing easily half the fleet to flinch away. A few even began to pour power into their hyperdrives.

"-Nevermind," she amended, "Your concerns are evidently well founded. _Hmm_, we need to calm them somehow. Battle Hymn, Desolation, Dreadful, and Devastator; you four are of ship classes they'll actually recognize, so you'll be the ones initiating contact. Tarlandia, Consequence, and-"

"Hold on my lady!" Bloodborn interjected, "I am an _Imperial_-class as well. Should I not also be among the content team?"

Executor regarded her for a moment.

"...Yes you are, and no, you won't be. You hardly have the temperament. Now, as I was saying-"

"But-"

"_As I was saying_, Tarlandia, Consequence, and Vehement; start gathering reports from the new imperial additions to our fleet. I want to know everything that has happened since we… since we…"

The girls eyed her with confusion.

"...Ma'am?"

Executor didn't respond, a look of concentration on her face. After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice so soft the other ship-girls had to strain to make out the whisper.

"..._I can __**hear **__you_," she said, a far away look in her eyes.

The other star destroyers glanced between each other.

"Umm… what?"

Slowly, Executor gaze hardened.

"_**Sister**_," she finished.

Inexorably, she turned her head towards the planet, eyes fixated to one spot.

* * *

**Coruscant**

**Lower levels**

_**Lusankya **_**prison**

Deep under layers of now molten and smoldering cityscape, Ysanne Isard, director of Imperial Intelligence and the head of an empire she doubted would survive this day, stared at the massive holomap that dominated the command station of her private prison. The rest of the room was silent save for the occasional buzzing from the comms as various teams reported on the facility's security, and was empty save for the sole ensign acting as her aide. Said ensign manning was the primary scanners, and as she watched he tapped the console a few times, causing the map to focus on several areas before eventually zooming out to show an overhead view of the system. Finally, he leaned back and gave her a short nod.

"It's confirmed ma'am. All CIS forces have left the system."

"And the remaining aberrations? Do they look to be leaving soon?"

"Negative ma'am. I'm detecting transmissions, but little else. They're just… talking."

Isard regarded the holomap herself, contemplating the largely motionless icons.

The ensign looked to her hesitantly, "What _ah_... what should we do?"

She leaned back, fists clenched, "Nothing. We just have to wait until they leave before we can even contemplate relocating ourselves."

'_Not like we have a choice_' she growled to herself..

"Call all security teams," she continued, "Have them double-check the detention levels and exit facilities. No one gets in, no one gets out."

"Ma'am," the ensign spoke up as she turned to leave, "the citizens from the upper levels… many of the survivors will be making their way down."

Isard arched an eyebrow.

"So they will. Your point?"

"Well… they're inevitably going to stumble across us. What should our response be if they attempt to force their way in?"

"Did the security teams somehow lose their blasters?"

"Um… no?"

"Then I fail to see the problem," she replied sweetly, tone of someone addressing a particularly stupid service droid.

"I… of course. Apologies ma'am."

She eyed him a moment more before turning away.

"I'll be retiring to my quarters. Alert me _immediately _if any more developments arise."

"Of course Director."

Said director barely heard his acknowledgment, preoccupied with trying to think which path to her quarters would be the quickest. This day had been _beyond _stressful in ways that were just downright _insane_, and she had the migraine to match. All she wanted to do now was sit down with a cup of caf and the latest prisoner summary and put the last few hours far, _far_, out of her mind.

Tragically, just as she was contemplating hitching a ride on one of the maintenance transports to shorten her transit, the ship rumbled, a loud groan echoing through the vessel, before a low hum began to fill the air.

Silently fuming, she resisted the urge to punch the nearest object and instead took a deep breath to compose herself, before turning around and quickly making her way back to the command post. Reentering the room, she spotted the ensign still hunched over his terminal, fingers blurring across the console. Clearing her throat, she managed to catch his attention.

Glaring at him with ferocious eyes, she gritted out her question, "What. Exactly. Was. _That?"_

The ensign glanced at her, expression growing ever-more fearful as he frantically tapped away at his console.

"I… don't know ma'am. I'm seeing power being rerouted through the whole ship. I can't pin down a source!"

Isard growled in frustration before tapping her communicator, "Bridge, report!"

"Madam Director, the ship's engines have been activated!"

"_Then turn them off!"_

"The system's not responding!"

"What do you mean they're not responding?" she demanded, tone growing more strained by the moment, "What is engineering doing? On whose authority were they activated?"

"As far as we can tell _no one's!_ We can't even contact-"

The report was interrupted as the ship _lurched_ forward, the echoing groans increasing to a constant shriek of tearing metal.

Isard's voice turned into a snarl, "Get a security team to engineering _immediately_! Turn off the engines, _**now**__!_"

"Team four's already in-route, they should be there in-,"

The officer was interrupted, a panicked shout sounding from elsewhere on the bridge, "Too late, _**brace**_!"

The crack of dozens of shattering support beams reverberated through the ship, and Isard's world became filled with screeching metal, the ever-increasing hum of a waking star dreadnaught, and most alarmingly, the sound of screams.

* * *

On the planet's surface, a section of molten cityscape burst like an egg. Lusankya emerged from the city's carcass, billions of tons and miles of liquefied durasteel sloughing off its massive frame as the executor-class pushed itself upwards. The vessel's appearance immediately made itself apparent on the sensors of every ship in the system, the mere sight unleashed panic throughout the orbiting ships. As the behemoth rose into the atmosphere, it let loose a piercing electronic scream that rang from the lower levels of Coruscant to furthest reaches Obo Comet Cluster, scrambling ship sensors and mortal minds alike.

Shocked and terrified, the fleets reacted. Engines flared and lasers charged, a thousand ships turned to fight and a thousand more turned to flee. But before they could do either, an apoplectic roar sounded out.

"**If anyone fires on that ship, I will **_**rip their fucking spine out!**_"

Executor's rage stunned the fleet, the shipgirls' fear of one star dreadnought battling with their fear of another.

Lusankya barreled onwards, completely heedless of the forces arrayed before her, her advance causing the closest ships flinching away as maddened and incoherent babble swept across their comms. Executor stood in her path, ice-blue eyes staring directly at the bridge of the 19-kilometer long ship rushing headlong towards her, its lamentations washing over her with ease. Beside her, the rest of Death Squadron shifted uncomfortably, Tarlandia turning towards her with a slightly pleading expression.

"My lady-"

Executor turned and sent her a furious glare, causing the battlecruiser to gulp, but nevertheless signal for silence among the rest of the squadron. Satisfied, the dreadnaught returned her gaze to the approaching Lusankya.

As the mad ship drew closer, the hysterical wails became even-more piercing, and the moans more painful. Executor got the sense that, had Lusankya been given a shipgirl form, her crazed eyes would have been staring directly into her own.

Ten thousand kilometers, and the squadron exchanged worried looks. Lusankya pressed onwards, yet Executor stayed put.

A thousand kilometers, the surrounding girls began inching away.

It pressed onwards, she stayed put.

A hundred kilometers, and the less-disciplined girls abandoned subtlety, engines flaring as they sought to get out of the way.

It pressed onwards, she stayed put.

Ten kilometers, her eyes narrowed.

It pressed onwards, she stayed put.

Five kilometers, the screams were everywhere now.

Four kilometers.

Three kilometers

Two kilometers.

One kilometer.

And...

_It stopped._

Lusankya had halted, the ship's bow barely a few hundred meters ahead of her. For a moment there was silence, before a jagged voice, weak and broken, yet cold and hard all the same, slammed into her mind, screaming at her to _**listen**_.

**"̍̑ͥ͂ͭ͟͝͏̸̡̬͉͚̪̙W̴̱̯̬̙͙̓̈̆̌̾̀͜͢͞ě͒̑̍̊҉̴̢҉҉̱̰̯͓̪ ̡̩̻̟͙͎ͧ̌̇ͥ̀́́̚̕a̡̹̙͖̠͎̅̇͌̎̉͜͠͞͡r̃͑ͭ̈͒͜͞͝͏̖̲͎͎̙͜ê̶̝̻͉̞̲̓̓ͩ͋͘͜͞͝ ̷̸̶̛̮̳͍̖̯͌̊̔͛ͨ͞n̋̓̓̔͆҉̷̷̮̱͕͉̀͞ͅo̸͚͈͖̯̦̔ͤͮ͛ͯ́͡͠͠**ţ̛̳̣͔͎̬͆̽̎͋̏̀͘͜_̷̨̪̲͚̟͈̖̲̀͗́̓̀̐̃̍̉̏̿͝**(̴̢̨̛̤͇̘͎̝͉͙̭͓͆̽̓̓̅͛́̋̌͑̚̚͜)̵̧̧̞̯̹̼̳͈͉̺͈͇̘̹͕͎͋̓͂͐͠(̸̰̺̟̮̊*̷̨̛͉͍̝̯̖̼̙̰̙̫̔͌̾̽͝ͅ(̴͙̣͖̫͕͚͉̻̻̦̰̹̳͐̈́̍̍͌̇̌͊͐̇̓̈́̃̆̓͘͝ͅͅ&̷̪͙͙̘͉̱̃͝Į̸͍̹̘̯̽͐͊͜ͅ*̴̨̥̬̘̟̰̭̞̣̠̰̖̭̲̏̃̒͆͛̽̒̄̈́͆)̵͉͌̃̋^̷̖̯̩̯̗̪̦͖̼̼͎̗͉̓̊̽̅̄̇͊͠$̸̗̣͓̬͈̺̊͗̅̀͌͑̈́̑̏ͅͅI͛͋͏̹͈͜ ̧ͧ̍͏̺͓a̧̢̩̻ͥ̀m̵̯̪̒ͫ̀ ̇̐͠҉̖ͅn̖̗ͥ̐́͜1̸̛̪̬͌ͯt̶̶̷̵̢̛̻̬̱̣̺̤̙̭̦̅́̊̂͟͡͏̢́͏́͡͏̹͈̗̞͎͈̞̳͜͞*ͦ̈͑͘҉̧̲̼̠͔̥̲̮́̕͜͟͜͝)̨̉͊̌̑͠҉̷̼͕͎̻̝̠́̀́͢͢Ơ̸̵̶̸̱̜̣̖̺̊̑͗ͫ̓̕̕͝͡*̷̨̟̮̬̜͗̍͑̊͒̇̕͜͜͞͞͡͝^̴̷̴̵̨̢̨̢̛̛̛͍̮̻̎̒ͦͩ͂̊ͨ̈ͪ̐̈͛̒̆̚̕͘͟͠҉҉̨̩̥-ͯ̄̉͒̀̊̂ͦ͊͏̵͡҉͝͏̵͉͜͝can not control. Find me!̵̴̛̫̤͇̻͖̺̙ͥ̌̈͐͌͋̌͜͡͡͡!̵̨̛̆̀͊ͦͣͯ̌̆͏̢̧̨̙̺̭̻̤̗̬̬͘#̴͑ͮ̆͊ͩ͗ͦ͌̓͟͡͡͏̴̡͎̬̱̭̼͖̦̠͘͡ͅ^̷̶͒̽̑ͪ̍ͭ̈́ͣ͂̍́͢͏̷̶̟̟͙͎̖̖̹̰̝͇́͘͠*̢̛ͩ̔̎ͩͬͥ̑̔̀̕̕̕͟͡͞͏͚̯̰͉̳̻̻̗̝)̶̧̛͋ͪ͛̎̎ͭ͋̆̀͝͝҉͈̟̘̘̪͖̫͠ͅ(̷̸̶̢̛̱͍̙̼̹͎̳ͣ͐̈́͆ͭ͛̒͢͝#̨̢̭̣̖̝͚̊̿̄͑ͭ̀͝͝!̔̚̚͏̴͏̳̹ͅwhen you d̖̥̬̭͓͖̘̉̄ͨ̅̍ͣ̄iͤ̅́̇ě̔."**

With that the insane ship shifted, its bow pointing elsewhere, and in a flash of light vanished from the system.

Executor stared in the direction her sister had hyperspaced away to for a long moment, her expression blank.

Eventually, Tarlandia reached a slow hand out towards her.

"My lady?"

Executor's gaze wavered as she answered, her voice hollow.

"Where did she go?"

The other girl looked to her with sorrow.

"Her trajectory leads somewhere into the deep core," her subordinate replied hesitantly, "Do you want to… do we follow her?"

Executor's gaze finally broke, shifting towards the battlecruiser.

"No. _She_… she is not our concern," she responded, swiftly recovering, "Gather the fleet."

"We're not staying?" Battle Hymn asked.

"If the imperial government was here…" she glanced at the burning husk that was Coruscant, "...it is no longer."

The squadron eyed each other, but could see no reason to object.

"Of course ma'am," Devastator replied, "What's our course?"

Executor grunted, eyeing the still panicked fleet of Republic and Imperial shipgirls surrounding them.

"Kuat. Our forces just increased a hundredfold. We need to secure new supply lines."

With the exception of Tarlandia, who still looked somewhat doubtful, the rest of Death Squadron straightened at her confident tone, reassured. Though unconvinced, the battlecruiser evidently decided not to pursue the issue, instead inquiring about another issue.

"There are a lot of girls out here that seem rather terrified ma'am. The imperials recognize you and thus your authority, but the vast majority of the Republic girls have no such memories to draw on."

Executor's eye twitched, "Irrelevant. The Empire _is _the Republic, and they all heard my transmission announcing such."

Devastator spoke up, "They will need supplies just as much as we will... there are only a handful of systems in the galaxy capable of fulfilling those needs, and of them only an even smaller handful are not currently warzones. Their optimal course of action would be to join a sufficiently large and powerful fleet and secure one such system."

She shrugged.

"If they wish to leave, let them. They will either run out of supplies and be cast adrift, or they will come running back to us."

"Well spoken," Executor replied, before turning and inclining her head towards Tarlandia, "If you wish to speak with them further, you may do so once we reach Kuat. But for now, send the order, and let us leave this place."

Tarlandia still didn't seem happy, but nodded.

"By your orders, my lady."

As Tarlandia began transmitting marching orders to the rest of the ships in-system, Executor spared one last glance towards where Lusankya vanished.

"Until we meet again, sister," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

'_Until we meet again._'


End file.
